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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23995978">Buildings fall, I tumble</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Violence, Enemies to Lovers, Explosions, M/M, Permanent Injury, Police Officer Jon Risinger, Vabond Ryan Haywood, very action violence in the first half. very homely in the second half</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:21:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,339</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23995978</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn't what Jon expected when he was transferred to Los Santos, but he decides it could be worse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ryan Haywood/Jon Risinger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Buildings fall, I tumble</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon was sick of this shit- ducking behind an overturned car as bullets whizzed past and explosions threw waves of heat through the neighbourhood.</p><p>Sick of the constant gunfights, sick of the crackling radio as these assholes caused <i>another</i> scene, sick of the car chases, sick of the constant hospital visits as he inevitably got taken down in every. Single. Skirmish.</p><p>A growl rumbled from his throat as a spray of gunfire streaked past his left knee, causing a full body flinch to momentarily throw him out of cover. He swung to aim over the car’s hood when a burning pain speared into his bicep, provoking the officer to reflexively curl into himself and slap a hand over the newest wound- blood already seeping through his sleeve.</p><p>“Shitshitshit-” he hastily raised the arm over his head and fumbled with a small knife, messily slicing off a strip of shirt and tying it tightly over the spreading stain of blood.</p><p>Scrambling to move when another smattering of bullets rained down, he barely heard the thud in time- a grenade had landed by his feet. He sucked in a breath; body so tense that the action caused a pain to bloom through his lungs. It felt like slow-motion when he jumped backwards. Knowing it wasn’t enough. Knowing he would die-</p><p>Colliding with something warm and pliable, Jon immediately identified it as another human; and in his frantic state connected it to a civilian or fellow officer about to be caught in the blow.</p><p>“Fucking. <i>watch out!”</i> he wheezed clumsily, twisting around to grab the person by the arm and push the both of them onto the side walk with sheer adrenalin. when the other started struggling in his grip he smacked them- not the proper thing to do in a situation like this but damn it <i>there was a fucking grenade about to go off.</i></p><p>The smack froze the other individual long enough that Jon could shove them behind an overturned dumpster and drop on top of them in a weak attempt to shield them- Bang ringing out and shrapnel shrieking past when it finally exploded.</p><p>“Fucks sake,” Jon rasped, pushing up from the persons chest to finally give them a good look- </p><p>
  <i>“Fucks sake.”</i>
</p><p>A face coated in black and white paint stared back at him, icy blue eyes blinking at him in bewilderment.</p><p>Jon was still for all of one second before he felt the blood drain from his face and began the mad scramble to grab his handcuffs and try to pin down <i>THE mother-fucking VAGABOND,</i> who had also begun moving as soon as he registered the police badge on his saviour. </p><p>He rolled to the side, successfully tripping Jon as he grabbed for one of his arms.</p><p>Almost blind with panic by now, fists clenched as he landed on his ass and the larger man stood over him, the officer tried to scoot backwards, sensing his death approach rapidly- an explosion. Loud. Jarring. And oh, so very, very close.</p><p>Jon went numb so fast it felt like his entire nervous system was ripped out of him like a cheap tablecloth trick. Eyes now locked onto a sight he knew would be imprinted into his very soul. The ground shook. The noise was unbearable. The Vagabond snapped his head up when he realised the cop hadn’t gone white from <i>his</i> presence.</p><p>The criminal managed a very strangled “shit.” </p><p>And then the towering hotel, that had just been hit with one too many bombs, fucking fell on top of them.</p><p>==</p><p>Jon rubbed at his face tiredly, the thump of a building headache crawling into his temples as another load of paperwork was placed at the side of his desk by an apologetic secretary. </p><p>Desk duty was never something he’d given much thought to in the past, just a necessary evil he’d resolved to deal with. But now? He glanced down to his crutch forlornly, now it was his entire career in the police force. </p><p>“Hey,” lieutenant Dunkelman sang, sticking her head into his workspace “are you gonna start packing up, now? Or are you planning another day of overtime, Mr. work’s-more-important-than-my-husband.”</p><p>“God damnit, Barbara- that was <i>one</i> time, and we all know I’m officially banned from working extra hours thanks to the revenge pranks he pulled for the rest of that week.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I also know you still sneak in extra time every now and again, so I’m here to make sure you don’t do that.”</p><p>“How would you know I snuck more hours?” Jon asked, eyebrows furrowing in alarm.</p><p>Dunkelman gave him a flat look “why else would I find boobytraps filled with whipped cream and glitter strung up around your desk every second week? Unless-”</p><p>“Unless I’d done something to piss him off, yeah- okay- you got me there,” he grumbled, sliding files into a drawer and pulling himself into a standing position with his crutch “but if you’ve seen the pranks, why don’t you ever disarm them?”</p><p>“Are you kidding? No way, you deserve every one of them.”</p><p>“Thanks” Jon said, dryly- before finally heading for the stations exit and away from the artificial lighting and loud wheeze of old air conditioners.</p><p> He stopped to appreciate the cool night air once outside, masterfully ignoring the constant smell of cigarettes and petrol as a wind picked up. Despite its many attempts, Los Santos was not a dream city- especially when it had so much extravagant crime.</p><p>Jon was pretty sure the only reason it wasn’t a smouldering wreck with no human inhabitants was because everyone was either too broke to afford to move, or they were just complete idiots. He couldn’t fault them either way, since he was also still living here despite the many disasters. </p><p>Speaking of which- Jon winced as he felt a glob of whipped cream slide off his head and land squarely on one of his new shoes- it was time to head home and apologise to his husband dearest.</p><p>==</p><p>“I’m home!” Jon hollered into the massive Livingroom of the penthouse, throwing his work bag onto the coffee table as he limped straight into the bathroom for a much-needed shower; giving his clothes a forlorn look as they landed in the laundry basket, splotches of now dried food topping no doubt leaving stains.</p><p>He hopped into the shower quickly, desperate to get the gunk out of his hair and avoid agitating his already sore leg.</p><p>“Honey~,” he heard the deep voice of his partner sing through the door “I see you got my present?”</p><p>“Yeah- fuck you, too, asshole! It was <i>your</i> fault I had to stay late yesterday!”</p><p>“Oh, come on, a guy can’t go on a bank heist with his friends these days? What was I supposed to do- just abruptly stop the car chase and head home at precisely three in the afternoon?”</p><p>“As a matter of fact, yes” Jon sniffed, turning off the shower and stepping out to dry off and change.</p><p>Swinging open the door, the officer practically fell into the warm embrace of his husband waiting patiently on the other side; letting the bigger man carry him to the couch and settle down amongst their favourite pillows, crutch set against the armrest.</p><p>“Hello, honey,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to the top of Jons head “how was your leg, today?”</p><p>Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Risinger shrugged “no worse than usual, but damn if the <i>headaches</i> aren’t adding to it.”</p><p>He hummed in acknowledgement, rubbing his husbands back calmly “sorry.”</p><p>“For fucks sake, Ryan, <i>stop</i>; It wasn’t your fault a fucking <i>building</i> fell the fuck on top of us.”</p><p>“Yeah, but if Michael-.”</p><p>Jon pecked the vagabond on the lips, flipping over to look up at him from the position in his lap “shut up and let’s watch some crappy television, sir. I am not in the mood for the blame game.”</p><p>And without further ado, that’s just what they did until the rest of the crew came home with another crazy scheme on their mind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I don't really know what the title's meant to mean. something along the lines of 'falling' in love + a building <i>literally</i> falling on top of them = "<i>buildings</i> fall, I <i>tumble</i> into love, instead"</p></blockquote></div></div>
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